


Through the Looking Glass

by Dawnfire11



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, Bromance, Gen, Humor, No Slash, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnfire11/pseuds/Dawnfire11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident causes Sherlock and John to switch bodies. Sherlock races to solve a case while trying to set everything back to normal. Things turn from bad to worse when they realize that Moriarty is involved. No slash. Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another fanfiction from my ff.net account! 
> 
> Please leave me a comment! XD 
> 
> Warning: This is rated T mainly for safety, but there will be minor swearing and maybe some violence in later chapters.
> 
> Note: This takes place in between Baskerville and Reichenbach. There will be no slash. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Sherlock.... No matter how much I wish I did.

Chapter 1: 

Later, John would try to remember who had talked him into it. He would sit for hours, wondering how they had reached the point where they had become that desperate. His companion, however, reacted much differently. Sherlock had already forgotten the incident, and, aside from trying to recreate the odd circumstances from which it occurred, had brushed it off as an unimportant matter. 

It all began on a bleak, November morning. The air was crisp and cold, hinting at the coming of winter and the sky was dark with gray rain clouds. John, sitting at his usual place on the sofa, glanced out the window as he typed on his laptop, trying to remember every detail from the Baskerville case. His fingers paused in their frantic typing and his eyes drifted from the window to the figure hunched over at the kitchen table. 

Sherlock was completely absorbed in what he was doing, unaware that he was being studied by his companion. On the table were several beakers, filled with liquids of different colors. His hands were steady as he worked, his eyes unblinking. 

John looked back down at his laptop. but it was too late. His muse had left him for the moment. After saving his work, he shut the lid of his laptop, standing up and making his way to the kitchen. 

John watched silently as Sherlock poured the contents of one beaker into another. When nothing happened, he frowned and scribbled something on the pad of paper resting on the table.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

There was no response from Sherlock, making John roll his eyes in exasperation. Just when John was about to leave, Sherlock looked up, his pale eyes meeting John's. 

"Experiment," he said, before looking back down at the beaker. 

"I gathered that," John responded.

"Then why did you ask?" Sherlock snapped, picking up an eyedropper and extracting some of the chemical. 

"What is this, anyways?" John asked, picking up the beaker. 

Sherlock looked up quickly. "Don't touch that!" He reached out a hand, accidentally knocking into John's arm and sending the beaker crashing onto the table. Another vial fell in the commotion, glass shards flying through the air and liquid sloshing over the table.

John held his breath, expecting the chemicals to begin eating away at the table or at least catch fire, but nothing happened. He opened his mouth to tell Sherlock that messing with hazardous chemicals was stupid and dangerous, but the words never left his mouth. 

There was a flash of bright light and a noise like a gunshot. John was blasted back, his head smashing against the wall behind him. Darkness swept over him like a wave. 

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The first thing that Sherlock was aware of was the terrible pounding in his head. He was next aware of a strange feeling in his body. He flexed his fingers, feeling as if he were moving them for the first time. He kept his eyes closed, taking a few breaths through his nose. After a moment, he pried his eyes open, blinking and sitting up. 

He was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, and upon further examination, he noticed glass shards and wood splinters littering the tiles. Suddenly, he remembered the chemicals... the explosion... 

"John?" he croaked, his voice sounding strange. He stood, swaying for a second before getting his body under control. "John?" he asked again, clearing his throat. He saw a figure laying facedown on the other side of the room. 

He stood still for a moment, looking down at John and immediately knowing something was off.

In the darkness, he could make out a purple shirt and a pale arm.

_Different clothes from what he was wearing earlier. He obviously didn't change, due to the fact that he is still lying on the floor..._  

_Complexion is off... paler than normal... could be due to shock...._

Sherlock paused in his deducing, stumbling over to the kitchen window and throwing the curtains open, letting the red-gold sunlight stream into the room. 

He turned back to John, his thoughts flaring up like a wildfire. 

_Brown, curly hair... my purple shirt.... black trousers... also mine...._

Sherlock bent down, rolling the man over. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the face.

Sherlock was looking at himself as if he were staring into a mirror. He stood up, his brain reeling. Shoving his deductions to the back of his mind, he strode through the kitchen and into the bathroom, walking over to the mirror.

John's eyes stared back at him from the glass. His hand reached up, feeling along his jaw and around his nose.

"Interesting," he commented in John's voice.

We switched bodies, he realized suddenly. Somehow, we managed to switch bodies....

"Oh this is brilliant!" He took a few more minutes studying himself in the mirror before he went back into the kitchen. After checking John's pulse to make sure his flatmate was okay, he lifted the figure off the floor and moved him to the sofa. After that was finished, Sherlock sat on the other chair, closing his eyes and folding his hands under his chin.

Sherlock was pleased to discover that his mind palace was still mostly in tact. He began meticulously organizing his thoughts, and soon became so deeply engrossed in his mediation that he didn't notice when John started to stir.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

John blinked awake, his vision blurry and his muscles aching. It took him a moment become fully aware. "Sherlock?" he called, his voice hoarse. He saw a figure out of the corner of his eye and he sat up, intending to chew Sherlock out for being so utterly insufferable.

For the second time that day, the words stopped in his throat. He was staring at himself. 

The body.... his body... was sprawled across the couch, still as a corpse, is hands folded together underneath its chin.

"Oh damn..." He cursed, his head spinning. When the body on the couch started moving he cursed again, jumping off couch and scrambling backwards.

His body started back at him for a moment, before saying, "John.... calm down."

John let out a weak laugh before sinking to his knees, shaking like a leaf in the wind. "I'm dead," he whispered to himself. "I'm dead...."

"Don't be an idiot, John. You are not dead! It's completely obvious what happened.... if you remember anything from this morning, even you should be able to connect the dots!"

John looked into the kitchen When John remained silent, Sherlock sighed. "John.... I may look like you, but I'm Sherlock. Our consciousness switched bodies, John."

John full out laughed. "Alright Sherlock, you can stop the act now. I'm not that stupid. Take off the mask or whatever it is you're wearing."

"John," Sherlock responded, his expression serious. "Go look in a mirror."

"No. Sherlock, stop this right now..." John said, his voice sharp. 

"Just humor me," Sherlock responded. John looked up, noting the grim expression on Sherlock's face. A shred of doubt wormed its way into his mind. 

John stood, rolling his eyes. He swayed, his head still pounding with pain. After a moment, he shuffled to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long time, not believing what he saw. 

Sherlocks pale eyes looked back at him from the glass. John ran his hands through his curly brown hair. "Sh... Sherlock?" he asked the mirror, watching as the image's mouth moved along with his. 

He turned around, seeing the man that claimed to be Sherlock leaning against the door. "Explain," John snapped. 

The man opened his mouth to protest, but John interrupted him again. "No... If you really are Sherlock and we really did switch bodies or whatever.... Explain!'

"It's actually quite obvious if you think about it, John. The brain is made up of several components, including neurons which transmit signals throughout the brain, creating our thoughts. The explosion from the chemical reaction caused the electrical signals in our brains to switch... I'm still trying to figure out how, but... somehow, someway... our thoughts switched." Sherlock was speaking quickly, his eyes shining with excitement.

"This is bloody wonderful..." John said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "No one is going to believe this..." he muttered, running his hands nervously through his hair. This action did nothing to comfort him, instead bringing him closer to panic as he felt the curls... Sherlock's curls... run through his fingers.

Sherlock was about to answer when the sound of footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson poked her head into the room, a warm smile on her face. 

"Hello," she said, her eyes shifting from the two men to the kitchen. "Oh, Sherlock! What did you do this time...?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but then remembered. He gestured to John with his hand. "Yes, explain yourself, Sherlock..."

John looked at him with a look that said I-am-going-to-kill-you-later. Sherlock just smirked.

"So sorry Mrs. Hudson," John said, his voice a deep baritone. "Wont happen again. John was just explaining to me how foolish I have been."

When Mrs. Hudson turned to look at him, Sherlock just nodded. "Oh yes.... Terribly foolish of you, Sherlock!" he said. As soon as Mrs. Hudson turned away, Sherlock glared at John malevolently. 

"I was just coming up to tell you that your friend is at the door... he said something about a case for you, Sherlock. Should I let him in?" 

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock said and Mrs. Hudson headed back down the stairs. 

John spun around as soon as she was out of sight. "No... Sherlock!" John said. "We can't take a case like this!"

"But..." Sherlock began. 

"No! You have to find a way to switch us back, Sherlock! I have things to do!" John snapped. That was the precise moment that Lestrade walked into the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: 

**“** You have to find a way to switch us back, Sherlock! I have things to do!” John snapped. That was the precise moment that Lestrade walked into the room.

He looked tired, his face drawn and his pepper-gray hair disheveled. He was holding a file, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. He gave John a funny look as he stepped in,. John swallowed nervously, his hands sweaty and his heart pounding.

“What happened in here?” Lestrade asked, looking around at the mess. John almost let out a sigh of relief, but he held it back. 

“Sherlock was messing with dangerous chemicals again,” Sherlock said without hesitation. “What is the case?” Lestrade looked at who he thought was Sherlock, but was really John. 

“Murder at a primary school,” Lestrade said grimly. 

John, who had forgotten that he looked like Sherlock, stammered, “Oh... Yes... Ummm... We can’t take the case.”

“Ok, I’ll meet you... Wait... What?” Lestrade said. “Sherlock, are you feeling okay?” He stepped towards John, a worried look in his eyes. “You never refuse a case as big as this... ever...”

“He got a mild concussion from the chemical explosion,” Sherlock responded quickly, his face expressionless. “And don’t worry, Lestrade. We will take the case... We can’t let something this interesting pass by, can we Sherlock?” Sherlock sent John a glare as he said this. 

Lestrade looked at who he thought was John. “Are you sure he is aright?”

“Yes, Lestrade. Please stop asking insufferable questions. It’s giving me quite the headache. What is the address of the crime scene? We will meet you there,” Sherlock replied. 

Lestrade stared at John disbelievingly, but gave him the address, walking out of the room swiftly. Once he was out of earshot, John turned to Sherlock. 

“This isn’t going to work!” he said. “You can’t do that!”

“Do what?” Sherlock asked. 

“You can’t.... You can’t act like such a pompous arse to everyone you meet! If we are to pass this off, you have to act like me and I have to act like you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up, grabbing his coat and beginning to put it on over his arms. “Sherlock,” John said. “You can’t wear that!”

“Why not?” Sherlock asked. If John didn’t know any better, he would have thought that Sherlock sounded a bit hurt. 

“I would never wear that. It would raise too many questions,” John said, reaching for the coat. 

“You are enjoying this!” Sherlock snarled as he tugged his coat off and shoved it in John’s face. John grinned and slipped the coat on, feeling strange... almost as if he were violating a bit of his friends privacy. He shook off the feeling as he buttoned the coat up. 

Sherlock reached for another piece of fabric, but John snatched it up. 

“Can I at least wear my scarf?” Sherlock asked almost pleadingly. 

“Nope,” John said, a small grin on his face. “Come on, Sherlock. Lestrade will be waiting....”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sherlock stepped out of the cab, his eyes scanning the building in front of him. He recognized the building as one of London’s many primary schools. His brain instantly conjured up the surrounding street names and buildings. 

John stepped out from behind him, opening his mouth to say something. 

“Remember what you said back at the flat...” Sherlock said, walking up to the caution tape where Sally Donovan was standing, looking bored and tired. 

Sherlock gestured discretely for John to take the lead, following his flatmate close behind. 

Sally rolled her eyes and glared at who she thought was Sherlock. “Freaks here,” she called, glaring once more at who she thought was Sherlock. John felt a surge of discomfort at the words, his stomach flipping. He didn’t know how Sherlock could stand being looked at like that, being called names like that every time he walked by. 

He said nothing to Sally, stepping under the caution tape and heading to the front of the school, trying to mimic Sherlock’s graceful strides. 

He reached the building, pausing before he swung open the door. He took a breath, preparing himself for what was to come. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Lestrade was waiting in the entrance hall, his hand combing nervously through his gray hair. He glanced up when he heard footsteps, his face relaxing when he saw the two men approaching him. 

“This way,” the DI said, leading them through the hallways and into an office. Sherlock’s eyes swiveled left and right, taking in all of the information he could.

_Woman’s office... Late 40s... High position in the school... maybe principle, most likely superintendent... Married happily to husband... two kids... Charlie, age fifteen... Annabelle, age seven..._

His eyes drifted to the body on the floor, bending down to get a closer look. The woman was on her back, her face blank and eyes staring. 

“Strangled to death,” Sherlock responded. “The killer used a thin rope... maybe a shoelace....”

“Thank you, John,” Lestrade said, a strange look on his face. “Sherlock, what have you noticed?” 

John looked up, startled. “Ummmm....” John muttered. 

Lestrade walked over to Sherlock, who he thought was John with a shake of his head. “Are you sure he is okay?” Lestrade asked. 

“Yes,” Sherlock replied snappily. “He probably just entered his mind palace. Isn’t that right, _Sherlock?”_

John snapped out of his daze, realizing that he had almost blown their cover. He rolled his eyes in his best imitation of Sherlock. “Yes, she was obviously strangled. Do you have a file on her that I can look at?”

Lestrade almost got whiplash from turning his head so fast. “Okay, now I know somethings up. You aren’t even going to show off? Tell us useless things that we don’t want to hear but you know just from a ring or a piece of cloth?”

“I am not in the mood,” John snapped, irritation clear in his voice. “Just give me the file.”

“So you got nothing? No information on the killer? Not a hunch or anything?” Lestrade sounded incredulous. 

“Lestrade,” Sherlock said, stepping in. “He has a concussion. Give him a break.”

Lestrade nodded reluctantly, handing John, whom he thought was Sherlock, the file and then leading them back into the hallway. Sherlock took one last look at the victim before following them out of the office.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The cab ride back to the flat seemed to take forever, the silence engulfing them like a blanket. John glanced at Sherlock, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, Sherlock,” John said, his deep baritone voice resonating through the air. 

“What for?” Sherlock asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion. 

“For almost blowing our cover... If anyone had found out... we could have been thrown in a shrink!” John said. 

 “But you didn’t,” he replied. “I do not understand why you have to say sorry for something that never happened.” 

John rolled his eyes, but decided to let the matter drop, his mind drifting back to the crime scene they had just left. He remembered what Sally had said to him.

“Sherlock,” he muttered. “I’m also sorry for what Sally says to you.. calling you a freak... I don’t know how you take it.”

The consulting detective was silent, staring out the window with a blank expression. John cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. He should have known Sherlock wouldn’t respond to sentiment. 

“Did you notice anything about the woman?” John asked finally, and at this, Sherlock seemed to light up. 

“The victim was happily married, had two children, and a white cat. She had a high position in the school... probably some sort of superintendent. She was strangled with a shoelace... She never saw her killers face as she was turned away from the door and the killer snuck up from behind. The killer could be a student that hated her, but I don’t think so... the killer was about six foot three, and I do not believe any children in primary school would be that tall. I didn’t have time to snatch any papers off her desk, so I need you to call Lestrade up and get her browser history and I need to speak with anyone who was working in between the hours of five and seven.” 

John stared at Sherlock disbelievingly, shaking his head. “I will never know how you do it,” he said. 

Sherlock opened his mouth to begin explaining that it was simple, but John cut him off. “Please, I don’t want to know this time.”

The cab pulled up besides their flat and, after handing the cabbie the fee, they both headed into the flat.

John collapsed onto the couch, letting himself relax for the first time since they had switched bodies. He was just about to turn on the telly when he remembered. His hands scrambled for his phone and he turned to Sherlock. 

“I need you to call Katherine. I was supposed to go on a date tonight, but now...” John said, trailing off with a sigh. He had already cancelled a date once with Katherine so he could help Sherlock with a kidnapping a few weeks back. He knew that after the last time, she would not be so quick to forgive. 

“Why can’t you do it?” Sherlock responded, plucking the strings of his violin absently. 

“Because, Sherlock, I sound like you and it would make me look like an irresponsible boyfriend if I made my flatmate cancel a date for me,” John replied angrily. Sherlock was the smartest person he knew, but sometimes he could be a complete idiot. 

Sherlock took John’s phone, scrolling through the contacts list. He pressed the phone to his ear. 

“Hello, you’ve reached Katherine Smith. I am unable to answer my phone right now, but please leave a message and I will try to get back to you as soon as I can.”

Sherlock hung up without leaving a message, looking up at John as if contemplating something. After a moment of silence, Sherlock spoke. 

“She didn’t answer. Went straight to her answering machine so her phone is off or dead...” Sherlock said. 

“I’ll just skip it, then,” John said. 

“No...” Sherlock responded, his gaze boring into John like a laser. “I will have to go on the date for you.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

"I will have to go on the date for you."

John stared at his flatmate for a whole five minutes before registering what the man had said. "What?" John asked incredulously, his voice raising an octave.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I don't want to say it again. You heard me perfectly clearly." Silence filled the flat, making John shuffle from foot to foot before responding.

"Sherlock, you don't have to do that," John said. "I can just go out with her another day. She wont care..." John knew this wasn't true, but he didn't know what was worse... letting Sherlock go on his date for him or not showing up at all.

"I do. As long as we are in each others bodies, we might as well get used to acting like each other for a little while," Sherlock said. "Besides I have always wanted to do an experiment on how quickly..."

"No, Sherlock. You will  _not_ be preforming any kind of experiment on my girlfriend. If you do go, you will go and act as  _normal_ as you can."

Sherlock looked pouty for a second before he nodded reluctantly, standing up and checking the time on his phone. "When does the date start?" he asked. "And where do I need to go?"

John couldn't believe this was actually happening. "I was supposed to meet her in an hour at Angelo's..." A web of silence was spun over the room once more. Finally, Sherlock muttered something about getting ready and strode out of the room.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sherlock glanced in the mirror one last time, running his hands through his dirty blonde hair. He stepped out of the room, striding into the sitting room with his hands clenched at his side. John was sitting on the couch, his laptop propped on his lap. He glanced up when Sherlock entered the room, noticing his flatmate's tense shoulders.

"Nervous?" he asked, trying to hide a smile.

"I don't get nervous," Sherlock snapped, giving his flatmate a glare.

"Sure," John responded, his voice laced with sarcasm. Sherlock ignored this, pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking the time. He was about to head out, when he paused.

"John, I need your phone," he said.

John looked up. "But you have yours right there in your hand!" John said disbelievingly. "Can't you use your phone instead of mine for once?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. You are starting to sound like Anderson. I need your phone because I am you. Would it not look weird if your girlfriend saw who she thought was you walking around with someone else's phone?"

John realized his mistake and grabbed his phone off the table. "There you are," he said, handing the consulting detective the small, gray mobile. Sherlock nodded.

"Better take mine while you are at it," Sherlock said, giving his flat mate his phone. When the phone switch was completed, Sherlock headed out the door and into the street, his feet carrying him down the road to where Angelo's stood.

He stepped inside, smiling at the waiter, Billy. "Table for two," he said, and Billy gestured to his usual table by the window. Angelo spotted him from across the restaurant, a huge grin breaking out on his face.

"John!" he called, ambling over. "Will Sherlock be joining you tonight?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I have a date," he said, hoping that he sounded like John. Angelo just smiled knowingly, placing a candle on the table and laying out two menus.

"Whatever you and your date want, on the house. A friend of Sherlock Holmes is a friend of mine," Angelo said, tramping away.

Sherlock looked down at the menu as he waited, occasionally checking John's phone to see the time. He was just becoming irritated when a short, blonde woman walked through the door. Her eyes scanned the room, searching until they landed on John, lighting up with recognition.

Sherlock inwardly groaned as his eyes began to spot the little things that only he noticed.  _Dyed blonde hair... Fake tan... fake nails... Fake breasts... overall, fake._

He smiled in order to cover up his complete disgust. "Hello, Katherine," he said, standing up and pulling out the chair for her.

_One large dog... most likely a German Shepherd... Trying and failing on a new diet... probably due to her insufferable desire for chocolate._

"Thank you," she said, snapping Sherlock out of his trance. Sherlock sat down again, picking up a menu.

The silence felt a bit awkward, and the consulting detective realized that John would have remedied it with small talk. He, however, felt no desire to spark up a conversation, so he let the silence hang in the air.

Katherine shifted in her chair, glancing at her date and then back down at her menu. "You seem quiet today," she commented. "Is everything going okay?"

Sherlock nearly growled with frustration, but he covered it up with another fake smile. "Sorry... Yes, everything is fine. I was just thinking about how you are so..." he paused, his lips about to form the word fake. Instead, feeling awkward, he said, "beautiful."

"Thank you," she said, a small smile showing her white teeth. Sherlock glanced up at the waiter who approached.

"Can I take your order?" the man asked, and, with a small flourish, he pulled out a pad of paper and the stub of a pencil.

Sherlock glanced down at the menu and realized that he would have to eat in order not to seem rude. He chose randomly, hoping that it wouldn't slow him too much when he was working on the case. Katherine ordered and then the waiter walked away.

"So how are you doing?" Sherlock asked her, his fingers tapping mindlessly on the table.

"Pretty good. Hannah and I are back to talking to each other again and I got a job at the..." Katherine began. Sherlock toned her out, occasionally nodding to fool her into thinking he was listening. Had he really agreed to this torture?

She stopped talking and Sherlock snapped back to the present again. "That sounds wonderful," he said.

"How is things going at your place?" she asked.

Sherlock realized he was expected to give a detailed answer. "Pretty well. Sherlock got another case, so thats been keeping me busy," he said, trying to think about what kind of things John would tell his girlfriend. "He actually blew up the table this morning..."

"That's terrible!" she said, her eyes widening. "Why do you still put up with him. From what I read on your blog and from the papers, he seems insufferable and rude."

"He is a genius. If anything, he has to put up with me being stupid and boring," Sherlock responded immediately.

Katherine raised her carefully shaped eyebrows. "That's not what you were saying last week," she said.

"What did I say last week?" Sherlock asked before he could stop himself.

To Sherlock's surprise, Katherine began to laugh. "Remember," she said, her face breaking out in a grin. "You said he kept putting acid in the kettle."

"That was for an experiment!" Sherlock snapped, instantly wishing he could take back his words.

Katherine looked at him strangely before standing up. "I have to go use the loo," she said. Her hand knocked against her purse which had been resting on the table, sending its contents spilling out. She hastily shoveled the items back in her purse, but not before Sherlock's mind began deducing.

"You have been cheating on Jo... on me," Sherlock said suddenly, standing over and knocking his chair backwards.

Katherine's mouth fell open for a few seconds before she managed to stammer, "N...No!"

Sherlock let out a bark of sarcastic laughter. "Yes of course you haven't. That is why you have a phone number written in a man's handwriting on a napkin in your purse. Not important enough to be entered in as a contact, but used often. So a lover. And then there is the tie stuffed into the bottom of your purse. Were you planning on meeting him after our date?"

Katherine stumbled back a few steps, clutching her purse to her chest. Sherlock took a breath, anger filling him as he stared at her.

"Were you even planning on telling me?" he asked.

"No..." Katherine responded.

"Well, it is over," Sherlock said, turning abruptly on his heel and striding out of the restaurant. "Moron," he muttered as he made his way back to his flat.

John was waiting for him, sitting at his usual place. Sherlock stormed past him, throwing open the room to his door and slamming it shut. John stood slowly, making his way to Sherlock's room and knocking softly on the door.

"Sherlock?" he asked. When there was no answer, he knocked again. "I'm coming in, so I hope your decent." He realized how stupid that was, considering Sherlock was in a different body... his body. He swung open the door to find Sherlock sitting on his bed with his violin in his hands.

"How did it go?" John asked.

Sherlock stared at John for a moment before responding. "You have a terrible taste in girlfriends."

"Oh my god, Sherlock. What did you do?" John asked exasperatedly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I didn't do anything. Your girlfriend, on the other hand, has been sleeping with another man for two weeks now."

It took a moment for John to process the information. "What?" he asked after a moment of disbelief.

"I broke it off for you. Next time, let me chose your date, John," Sherlock said, standing up and setting his violin back down on the bed. John followed him to the kitchen and watched as Sherlock began writing calculations.

"Thank you, Sherlock," John said after a few minutes of awkward silence.

Sherlock glanced up, and John almost laughed at the flash of confusion that showed on his face. "What for?"

"For going on the date for me and... and for finding out that Katherine was cheating. Who knows how long I would have dated that... that woman if it hadn't been for you," John said, feeling a bit awkward.

Sherlock's pencil stopped scribbling on the paper and the consulting detective looked at John straight in the eye. "Good?" he asked after a moment.

"Very good, Sherlock," John replied, smiling as he realized how far his flatmate, his friend, had come.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, John found Sherlock already awake, the man sitting on the couch, sipping a mug of tea and flipping through the case notes.

Without looking up from the file, Sherlock said, "Did you get her web browser history from Lestrade yet?"

John rolled his eyes and began to fill the kettle with water. "Nope," he said. "I will call him up after breakfast."

Sherlock just looked back down at the file, reading the victims information over again.

"Do you have any theories?" John asked, yawning tiredly.

"Several," Sherlock responded. "But I need her browser history!"

"In a moment," John said, rummaging through the pantry and pulling out a box of cereal. He had just poured himself a bowl when his phone rang, making him jump.

"Hello?" he answered quickly.

"Sherlock? Why are you answering John's cell?" Lestrade's voice sounded worried.

"He is busy and I needed to talk to you. Do you have the victims browser history?" John asked quickly before he could forget.

"Yes, I can get that to you," Lestrade responded. "But, listen. There has been another murder up at the school."

Sherlock snatched the phone from John's hands, quickly pressing it to his ear. "Yes? Sorry, I only just managed to get the phone back. He stole it from me," Sherlock said quickly.

Lestrade was silent on the line for a few moments before he responded, his voice sounding amused. "There has been another murder up at the school. Bring Sherlock and I will get you the browser history for both the victims."

Sherlock ended the call, grabbing the case file. "Get dressed! We have another crime scene to investigate!"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They arrived back at the crime scene, Donovan waiting to greet them as usual. "Hey, freak," she said in her usual bored voice. John shifted uncomfortably as she addressed him, his fist clenching in annoyance.

"Come on, Sherlock," Sherlock said, dragging his flatmate by the wrist into the school. Lestrade was waiting for them outside the principle's office, his eyes bloodshot.

"Hey, Sherlock... John," Lestrade said tiredly. He handed two files to John, whom he thought was Sherlock. "There is the web browser history for the woman and the file on the man."

John cleared his throat, feeling awkward. "Thank..." he stopped as he realized that Sherlock would probably not say that. "Just show me the body," he said.

Lestrade opened the door, leading them inside the office where a body lay. John kneeled by the man, pretending to be searching for clues. Sherlock looked around the office, eyes taking in every detail.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"We guess it to be around the same time as the last murder," Lestrade answered.

"And under similar circumstances too," John said, standing up. "This man was choked by a shoelace. But the killer made a mistake this time."

John held up his hand triumphantly. A white shoelace was coiled in his hand like a snake waiting to strike.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"The DNA of Thomas Jones, assistant principle, was found on the shoelace," Lestrade said hours later.

Sherlock shook his head immediately, and Lestrade stared at him, thinking it was John. Sherlock realized his mistake and quickly spoke again.

"Sherlock was just telling me some things he noticed about the crime scene. He doesn't think the murders were committed by anyone related to the school," Sherlock said.

Lestrade turned to who he thought was Sherlock with a frown. "Why not? All the facts point to Thomas Jones. His DNA was on the shoelace. He would have wanted a higher position in the school so he took out the superintendent and the principle."

Sherlock gave John a sharp look and John cleared his throat. "I don't feel like saying it all again. John, tell him for me, why don't you?"

Sherlock nodded. "Sherlock thinks that Thomas Jones has been framed. The facts lined up too easily, the case too simple to solve. He looked at the two victims browser histories and computer files and found that Thomas Jones has called in sick for the last week and a half. The principle had just emailed him to see what was wrong."

Lestrade nodded after a moment. "That makes sense, but we can't deny the facts sitting in front of us."

"Why don't we go ask him ourselves?" Sherlock asked, holding up a paper in his hands. Lestrade took the page, looking down at the list of names and addresses of every school employee.

"It's worth a shot," Lestrade said, hoping that they would solve the case soon.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They reached the man's address, Lestrade climbing out of the cab and leading Sherlock and John up the steps to the front door. He knocked once, stepping back. They waited for a full minute before Lestrade knocked again.

Another minute passed and Sherlock became impatient, reaching out a hand and grasping the doorknob. He twisted it experimentally, surprised when the door swung open.

"John," Lestrade warned as Sherlock stepped inside. "He might just be out."

Sherlock shook his head as he got a full look at the sitting room. A figure lay on the floor facedown, his arms splayed outwards and his legs folded under him at an awkward angle, blood pooling around him.

Lestrade opened his phone and dialed a number hurriedly, pressing it to his ear. He stepped out of the way and Sherlock and John entered the flat, Sherlock bending down next to the man's still body.

"This murder is different," Sherlock muttered, eyes searching the body. "Instead of being strangled, the victim's head was bashed in with some sort of pipe..."

John nodded, moving closer to the body. "What's that?" John asked, seeing a small white fold of paper sticking up from the man's shirt pocket.

Sherlock grabbed it, unfolding the paper and reading the words scrawled across the page.

It's time to play another game.

-JM

**TBC**


End file.
